Not In This Lifetime

wasted years ~ michael monroe

"So...are we just gonna stalk Duff out when we get there?"

"I guess. I didn't really think this through so well."

"Me either. Y'know, our parents are gonna have the cops out looking for us soon."

"Oh shit. I need to learn to plan ahead a little bit. Like, maybe not fucking bailing at the drop of a hat. I got no idea where we're gonna go, where we're gonna stay, what we're gonna do when we even make it to Seattle-if we even make it to Seattle."

"Don't think like that. We'll make it."

"We'll see."

"Hudson. You gotta believe in yourself." Willow gives me a look.

"I guess so."

We drive for maybe another three hours, but by midnight, I'm yawning and struggling to keep my eyes open. Willow is snoring softly in the passenger seat, her dirty ass sneakers on my dash and her nose scrunched up cutely as she sleeps.

"Coffee?" I mumble aloud. "Fuck yes, caffiene." Or cocaine--that would work too--but I don't have any of that at the moment. Getting off the interstate at the nearest exit, I pull through a McDonald's drive thru. I order myself three cups of coffee, because I can definitely drink that much. And I'm gonna drive until I absolutely pass out from lack of sleep.

I pop a mixtape I made into the player, too, to try and keep me awake. It's all my favorite hair-metal songs--a nice mix of inspiring and depressing.

Win big, mama's fallen angel

Lose big, livin' out her lies

Wants it all, mama's fallen angel

Lose it all, rollin' the dice of her life

In my sleep deprived state, the lyrics resonate more with me than they had in the past. Story of my fuckin' life. Then, Look What The Cat Dragged In comes on, once again making me think about things.

Oh my god look what the cat dragged in

Livin' my life sin after sin

Night rolls up and I do it again

Oh my god, look what the cat dragged in

Why the fuck does Bret Michaels know me better than I know myself? I roll my eyes and hit the fast-forward button.

I wonder why Duff wasn't around while I was small? Did he not know about me? Or did he just not want me?

He probably didn't want me. I know he didn't want me. My mom probably didn't want me either, I was a mistake.

A fucking mistake.

The thought is enough to make me mad, y'know, that sad kinda angry where you're crying but fucking furious at the same time? Yeah. I'm fucking pissed. I can't fucking beleive this. My fucking mother kept this from me? My fucking mother didn't tell me she used to hang out with my favorite bands EVER? Mötley and Guns and Skid Row--my idols. And she was friends with them, once.

The only question is, what the fuck happened?

I look at the empty road ahead of me, thinking over the lyrics of the song I'm currently listening to.

I'm not trying to fake it

And I ain't the one to blame.

There's no one home

In my house of pain.

I didn't write these pages

And my script's been rearranged.

No, there's no one home

In my house of pain

Then I hear Taime's spoken words at the end, and I lose it.

And I'm alone again

Well, if I learned anything from this...It's how to live on my own.

Tears-unshed tears from the past 16 years-start to come, filling my eyes and falling all over my lap and the steering wheel. I can't breathe. I can't see. It's coming, the darkness is coming to get me again! I try to get away, yanking the steering wheel and swerving off the road, throwing open the door and jumping out. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to ward off the demons.

But it's like a trick question on a test. You can't ward off something that's eating you alive from inside.

"What the fuck?" Willow mumbles sleepily, sticking her head out of my car. "What's going on?"

"I had a panic attack. It's okay, I'm okay."

"I can drive."

"No, you sleep."

"Hudson, shut up and get in the passenger seat. You look like a trainwreck."

"Will-"

"Nope."

"Fine." I huff and plop in the backseat, stretching out and unsurprisingly finding that I'm too tall to fit comfortably.

Sometimes, being 6'3" is a pain in the ass. I flop over on my side and let my legs dangle off the seat. Better? Not really, but I'll take it.

"It's okay, Hudson. It's all gonna be okay."

"I know. But sometimes, anxiety gets the better of me."

"Just...think about something that makes you happy. You're away from your mom, and you're gonna meet your dad."

"What if he doesn't want to see me? What if he hates me?"

"HUDSON! He's not gonna hate you, you're just like him. If he hates you, he oughta hate himself too."

"But-"

"Nope, not buts. Go to sleep. You'll feel better in the morning."

"Okay."

"How much fucking coffee did you drink?!"

"All three cups."

"Oh my god."

"What? I had to stay awake!"

"That's why your nerves are jacked!"

"Whatever."

"Go. To. Sleep."

I pull my jacket around myself and try to calm down--easier said than done. The demons that threaten my sanity are awake now, swirling around my head, trying to break me. It's a constant struggle. Mom calls them monkeys, but I think they're demons. Monkeys don't terrorize the night. Monkeys don't embody your darkest fears. Monkeys don't try to destroy your entire being.

I can't let them win.

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A/N: I'm so sorry, guys. It's been so long, and this is a short, shitty update. I have bad writers block for this story right now. I'm nursing an obsession with L.A. Guns and an obsession with writing dystopian stuff, and it's taking over my writing at the moment. Writing One Way Ticket is taking up way more of my time than it should, as is Nonstop To Nowhere. I'm also doing a Ficmas thing for Rockfic. Plus, high school is kicking my ass. I have a C- in latin and i gotta bring it up or my guitar is gonna get confiscated. 

I know this chapter is short and lowkey filler, but bear with me. It'll get more exciting soon. Once I get my head back in the game, I'm gonna try to update more often. Thanks for your support and patience.

peace, love, and rock n' roll!

-Frankie